The new rules for writing a thank-you letter

Thank-you letters are at a premium. In the age of texts, email, WhatsApp and Snapchat, a handwritten letter dropping on the mat is prime fucking real estate. Thrilling. Except when boring. Exciting. Except when leadenly formulaic.

The trouble is, we are locked in an abusive relationship with thank-you letters. At what age were you first sat on a chair (usually in that dead time between Christmas and New Year) and told to write to some slightly spitty, stinky grown-up to say thank you for something you didn’t really want and didn’t know what to do with? Six? Younger? ‘More than one side,’ boomed/shrieked whichever harridan/dictator was on your case, thinking, no doubt, that they were educating you in the ways of the world. Teaching you how to make friends and influence people and, crucially, ensuring that you were a fully paid-up member of the tribe. Heaven forbid you should be different. Never mind if you couldn’t connect with your emotions on any level whatsoever, but heaven forbid you should cover less than two sides. ‘And if you make a mistake, you need to start again, or it looks sloppy,’ continued your mentor in upper-echelon etiquette as, tongue peeping through your tensely parted lips, you slightly wet yourself.

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And so the writing of thank-you letters started to represent a kind of posh penance. And a rather graceless exchange – if they are generous enough to give you something or invite you somewhere, then you can take the time to write a letter. Their generosity and your appreciation all dampened by the expectation of writing and receiving a disappointing missive fired off to quench the thirst of duty alone.

‘I enjoyed myself immensely,’ you scratched into the paper. Or ‘I shall look so smart in my lovely new scarf.’ Or ‘I feel very glamorous with my grown-up washbag.’ And they haven’t got much better since, have they? Let’s be honest – with so little joy taken in the writing, how much joy can there really be in the receiving? So here are some radical ideas for new-generation thank-you letters. We would mourn them if they became extinct, but surely it’s time for a rethink...

One side only. Exceedingly brief and involving a compliment. ‘How could I fail to have fun in that gorgeous garden?’ Or: ‘The food was yummy, but you looked yummier.’ You get the idea. Super-laidback. And slightly blush-inducing.

Don’t force children to send a thank-you letter; force them to send something. Anything. A picture. A poem. A bracelet made of pasta sprayed gold. Reinvent the thank-you for them. Make it a thing of happiness and expression.

Your favourite book (straight from Amazon is fine), including a message that just says, ‘Thank you. And I think you might really enjoy this.’ So personal somehow.

Remember that if you delay and go into panicked rictus mode, when you can no longer attempt the sending of anything, just text. Or email. And say: ‘I am so sorry. I just got divorced/expelled/clean/pregnant/sectioned and I haven’t been coping very well. But I really, really loved it and I wanted to say a big thank you.’ So, so, so much better than deafening silence.

And that’s it. No more suffering in the writing or reading of those deathly epistles. And if anyone minds, then it says more about them than it does about you. If we don’t evolve, guys, we rot.

This article was first published in the December 2017 issue of Tatler magazine